


Prelude, Interlude

by RighteousMaximus



Series: Avatars in Ferelden [4]
Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition, Fire Emblem: Fuuin no Tsurugi | Fire Emblem: Binding Blade, Fire Emblem: Rekka no Ken
Genre: Crossover, Gen, Spoilers, Spoilers for a game that's over 10 years old
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-15
Updated: 2016-09-15
Packaged: 2018-08-15 04:50:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,172
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8043205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RighteousMaximus/pseuds/RighteousMaximus
Summary: A confrontation between a tactician and a general has desperate consequences, and another wanderer stumbles into Ferelden.





	Prelude, Interlude

The Sacaen grasslands shivered in the cool breeze, blades swaying with the winds.  A lone wanderer trekked across the plains, the figure's green robe fluttering around them.  They turned to look behind them, moving a bit faster down the gentle slope.  The wanderer gulped slightly and broke into a light jog, huffing.  A second later, the sound of hooves came pounding down the plains, red armor signifying that they were Bernese regulars.  

The wanderer broke into a run, but stopped a few meters after, unused to physical exertion.  They had wandered the continent of Elibe, once, but that was seventeen years ago.  Seventeen years ago, they had lead Eliwood and the others in their Campaign of Fire, defeated Nergal, saved Zephiel, and now...

If rumors were believed to be true, Zephiel was planning for war.  The wanderer had heard that Zephiel had procured two new retainers and something had changed.  There were murmurs amongst the Lycian and Etrurian lords of retaliation, of Hector planning for defense.  The wanderer stumbled and tripped, landing in the thick grass.  Within a moment, the paladins had surrounded the wanderer completely, no chance for escape.

"Marc of Lycia and Etruria, master tactician.  How long has it been?"  The wanderer stood up at this, lowering their hood to reveal a woman.  She was in her mid-thirties with short brown hair, her green robe over a tan tunic and breeches with leather boots.  The boots had been a gift from Florian, Farina and Fiora when she had visited them in Ilia, but they were worn now.  The robe shifted to show a brooch on her right chest, a mark of her rank of master tactician.

The speaker was a broad man in black and purple armor, a large scepter in his hand.  He grappled it firmly, and it shifted into the legendary sword Eckesachs, the royal weapon of Bern.  Beside him were two robed figures, one in red and the other in black.  

"Will you have me dispose of her?" The black-robed figure asked, monotone.

"No, no.  I have a plan for her."

Marc curtsied mockingly, exaggerated.  "Your highness Zephiel of Bern.  What brings me the honor of meeting with you?  And with all these soldiers too?  I'm flattered."

"I have plans for this world, Marc.  Regardless of your help seventeen years ago, I cannot risk you working for Etruria or Lycia in the coming conflict.  I must get rid of you.  But rejoice!  I have a plan only you can fulfill for me.  It won't even be that hard."

Marc barked a laugh.  "Even if you capture me, I won't work for you.  I don't work for anyone now.  I'm just a wanderer now."

Zephiel grinned, evilly.  "Then I don't have to worry about the next generation getting your help."

The tactician scowled, thinking.  "Well, you have me surrounded, and I am a non-combatant.  What will you do with me?"

* * *

Marc blinked in rapid succession, the lights fading.  Zephiel's two advisors had warped them somewhere, and teleportation always had worn the tactician out for a few moments.  When her vision cleared, she instantly recognized the familiar stone arches and pillars.  They were at the Dragon's Gate.

"Now I see, Zephiel.  You're going to try to pull dragons through the Gate and burn the world."

"Yes.  From the ashes a new world will emerge, a better one with dragons.  We humans are fraught emotion and wretched thoughts.  Sadness, hope, despair...worthless.  When I am done, the world will be better."

"That's not how it works, Zephiel!  The world may be confusing or painful, but it's so beautiful as well.  Besides, you can't even open the gate.  The only people who could are on the other side...or dead."

"You don't know about the other part, though.  A person with enough quintessence can be sacrificed through the gate, and it will awaken.  Someone like...you."  The red-robed figure finally spoke, a grin twisting his face.  "Besides, even if you fail, enough power will be released to reawaken our dear Idenn back to a demon dragon, and can produce war dragons at will.  You should be honored, human."

Marc stumbled back, reeling.  "Even if you do this, you will be stopped.  If not by me, then by another.  The next generation will - "

With nary another word, Zephiel smacked the tactician across the face, sending her to the ground.  He reached down to pick her up by the neck and looked her in the eyes.  "Silence.  Now rejoice, that you are bringing about a new world order."  He turned to nod at Idenn and the other, who reached forward towards the Gate.  With a flash of energy, a whirl of power appeared, dull compared to when all those years ago, when Nils and Ninian opened the gate.  

"Don't do this, Zephiel.  Don't - " And Zephiel threw her through the gate, a sneer on his lips.

* * *

Marc fell through time and space.  She didn't know how long she was in there.  She didn't know where she was.  Suddenly, there was an an event - almost like someone hitting the gateway between worlds with a hammer.  The tunnel - that was the best way Marc could describe it - shuddered and coughed, and with a sound that was like someone coughing and sneezing at the same time, she landed.

"Oof!"

The tactician rubbed her temples, trying to ease the blistering pain in her head.  A thought came to her, "Ferelden".  That must be where she was.  In the distance, she heard the pounding of hooves, and then everything was black.

* * *

Back at the Gate, nothing was happening.  They had sent Marc through, but nothing was happening.

"Jahn.  You said that the Gate would open."

"I said it might happen, my lord.  I think we must prepare for the other option."  Zephiel nodded and pulled Idenn in front of the Gate.  A moment later, a blast of energy emerged from the Gate, and Idenn screamed.  Zephiel and Jahn stood wide-eyed, grinning.  When the light cleared, Idenn stood hunched over.  She looked up, eyes different.  She gestured, and a figure formed next to her in a red robe.  She gestured again, and it morphed into a dragon, head straining against the low ceiling.

"Oh, yes.  Perfect."

"I trust this appeases you, my lord?"

"Indeed.  Heh heh heh.  HA HA HA HA HA!"

Zephiel's laughter echoed through the underground chambers.

* * *

"You there!  State your name and business!  Are you alright?"  Marc blinked her eyes a few times, adjusting to the sudden light.  What happened? Where - 

Zephiel.  She grimaced and sat up, rubbing the ache in her lower back.

"I said, state your name!  You are in the presence of the King and Queen of Ferelden, citizen!"

Right, she was in Ferelden, wherever that was.  She wobbled to her feet and collapsed again, breathing hard.  She rummaged around in her pack and pulled out a collapsable staff and expanded it into a makeshift staff.  She looked up to see a heavily armored knight in front of her, his hand on his sword.

"My name is Marc.  I am a wandering tactician from Etruria, and I am seeking employment."

"Etruria?  Is that Orlesian or something?"

"No, it's Elibean!  You know, Elibe?  Lycia?  Bern?  Sacae?"  Marc stopped, noting the man's incoherent expression.

"Whatever.  I am a master tactician on the road."

"Oh a tactician!  How interesting!"  A man walked forward, a crown on his head.  A woman walked beside him, also crowned, and they stopped in front of Marc.

"Alistair, be careful.  Let Teagan handle this.  She could be dangerous."

"Oh please, Anora.  I am a skilled Warden after all."

"Besides, milord, milady.  I am a non-combatant and unarmed.  Pardon me, your highnesses."

Before they could converse fully, another knight ran up to them.

"Pardon me, ser!  There are bandits ahead!"

"Drat.  While I'd love to fight them myself, I do have an image to uphold.  Men, handle it."

"Wait!" Marc interrupted.  "Allow me to help.  I am a tactician, and in my near twenty years of experience, I've not lost a single soul."

"Really?  And how old are you?" Anora asked.

"Thirty-three, milady."

"Alright then.  What would you have us do?"  The first knight, Teagan, asked.

"Well, here's what I'd do.  Send in a small force to get the bandits' attention.  Then retreat back through this narrow passage," Marc pointed to the near cliffs, "Then have your archers and mages attack from on high."  

"Mages?  You'd dare suggest the king and queen would consort with illegal mages?" A knight spluttered.

"What?  Never mind.  Just do what I say."

"You heard the woman," Alistair barked.  "Move out!"

* * *

"Report, my lord."

"Excellent.  What happened?"

"Mission success, my lord.  We wiped out the enemy force with no casualties on our side."  Marc smiled at this, leaning heavily on the staff.  Even after twenty years, she still felt happy when a mission was a success with no losses.

"Alright, I've decided.  I'm willing to hire you as a tactician.  As of now, we are on our way to the fortress of Skyhold to pay congratulations to the Inquisition for defeating a mortal threat."

"Alistair, this is too soon!  We don't know - "

"Peace, Teagan.  She could have ordered something what would have killed us all earlier, and she can't fight.  Besides, we could always use another bright mind on our side.  Especially with recent reports on the stability in Tevinter and the Qunari..."

"So, Marc.  What say you?  Is this honest employment?"

The tactician reached her hand out towards the king's and shook it firmly.  

"It'd be my honor, milord."

As the royal entourage set off towards Skyhold, Marc turned to look at the sky.  She was certainly a long way from home now.  She rummaged through her pack again, shifting aside her books - her logbook during her initial exploits with a group of Illian mercenaries, her logbook during the Campaign of Fire, and her diary of the last seventeen years.  

She pulled out a clean book and a stick of graphite and wrote on the cover "Ferelden Employ".  Amongst her other books was a fire tome and other odds and ends - jerky, a water skin, a compass.  She skimmed her fingers over the spine of the fire tome, and a puff of fire breathed out from her off hand.  While she had always had magical talent it had never been strong enough to be a mage - that was her siblings' jobs.  That's why she was a tactician.  

She let the flap close over her bag and gripped her walking staff firmly.  The pain in her lower back had transferred to her left leg, and she leaned heavily on the staff and her right leg.  She tested her balance and set off with the her new employer and company, wherever it lead.

* * *

'Marc: A wandering tactician from a continent called Elibe.  Unverifiable origins, but her tactical skills are impressive.  Casualties have gone down against enemy forces, whether they are Darkspawn or human.  Often complains about her age, even though she's only 33.  Disappointed and angry about the situation with mages, cites her own experiences with them as need for more.  Has said that, "Jailing people for who they are when they can the general population is barbaric."  

Says her affinity is Thunder, whatever that means.  Refuses to give up her cloak or boots, but is willing to wear royal colors beneath them.  Carries a tremendous amount of books with her, and if rumors are believed, might be a mage.  Over the last two years since Corypheus's downfall, she has been instrumental in military and diplomatic interactions between Ferelden and Orlais.  Also has been helpful working with the Inquisition in managing the rift situation.  

Overall, a key player in the political and military landscape.  Something about her reminds me of the Inquisitor.  A similar soul, perhaps?  Regardless, Kamui hasn't been seen in two years since she and Gunter beat Corypheus.'

Leliana stopped writing as the door to her quarters opened.  She closed her diary and stood up, ready to be Divine Victoria, but relaxed when she saw it was just her wife, Neria Surana.  She was finally free from the Calling, and now they were together.

Surana smiled wanly, a twinkle of life in her eyes.  She moved to kiss Leliana on the forehead and led her to their bed, crawling under the covers.

Right.

Their bed.

* * *

In the Vallite castle, Kamui and Azura crawled into bed.  Between them were their three year-old sons, lulled to sleep by Azura's lullaby.  As the mothers settled around the children, Kamui's hand sparked.

* * *

On a cliff in Thedas, Solas sat in a meditative state.  Over the last two years his power had grown, compounded by Flemeth's energy.  His powers of sight had grown to observe other worlds now, and he could see the Inquisitor and her family enjoying life.  He hated to bring her out of it, but she deserved it.  He needed the Anchor, and she deserved answers.

His eyes flashed green.

* * *

Somewhere in the Vallite castle, a green rift formed.

**Author's Note:**

> Just a quick thing to lead into The Next One's sequel. The idea just came to me and I needed a way to get the Tactician into Ferelden.


End file.
